


Study in Heat

by greenjimkirk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e28 The City on the Edge of Forever, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Vulcan Culture, a healthy mix of fluff and angst, au where vulcan has a moon, or at least i hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenjimkirk/pseuds/greenjimkirk
Summary: After the events in City on the Edge of Forever, Spock suggests that he and Jim spend some time on Vulcan. Turns out it's not a great place for a vacation, but is plenty good for pining.





	

The twin suns smiled down on him, and Jim smiled back.

Ecstasy hit him suddenly and fleetingly, and he kicked the sands beneath him, sending them into the air and against his face. Jim grinned despite the pain, looking again at the Vulcan suns and wondering when they had last seen a smile.

Behind him lay Shi’Kahr, and before him lay the yellow desert, its edges tinged by the ripples of mirage.

It had been Spock’s idea that they visit Vulcan, but Jim had consented almost immediately. A month spent in New York should have been vacation enough, but he was tired and distracted and found his captain’s shirt ill-fitting. They were back on the ship only a day before he put in his request for shore leave. It took only a week for it to be approved. A month spent trying to regain the Enterprise, and now he would spend a week avoiding her.

He looked at Spock’s shadows cast on the yellow sands. Two suns meant two shadows, one pointing straight ahead and the other leaning bent and lazy to the side. They bobbed across the uneven sands, sometimes reaching towards his own, four silhouettes that played and touched and stretched.

Jim wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Captain. I fail to understand why you insisted on making this excursion in the middle of the solar day.”

“Mr. Spock. I fail to understand why you insisted on coming with me.” His tone was playful, but it hid a real question. He did not know why Spock had come with him on shore leave, nor why he walked beside him now.

“I am accustomed to the climate. If you were to succumb to the heat, I would be able to provide aid.”

Jim laughed, ignoring the hot dryness in his throat. “Really, Spock. I can stand an hour or two in the desert without ‘succumbing.’”

Vulcan would not have been Jim’s first choice. But he liked the planet. He liked the heat and the colors and the stern indifference of its inhabitants. He could do without the dry climate; they had been there only three days and already he had suffered several nosebleeds. But Jim could handle a little blood, and he could also handle the coppery smell that clung to his sinuses.

“Be that as it may, may I suggest that next time you take a stroll through the desert, you do so at night when it is colder?”

Jim suppressed a sigh. He had had enough of the cold in New York. He had felt it in their shared room, in their shared bed when he had wanted to reach out to Spock, to wrap him in heat, but didn’t dare. He had felt it in the alleyway when he and Edith walked side by side, listening to the static of the radio and the songs of Billie Holiday, when his hand had sought hers out almost instinctively as if drawn to the heat. He had felt it in her bed after she had fallen asleep and he still lay awake thinking about the Enterprise that did not exist and maybe never would.

And he had felt it on the street among the screams and the hot smell of rubber. The street lights were hard and cold and revealed too much, and he had looked away.

Grief came with its own chill, and he felt it even now in the desert, like how a convalescent feels the damp cold of illness even after the fever has broke. Like how winter sits on the earth even after spring has begun to bud.

Like how – well, mostly grief was like grief. Jim was no stranger to it. He could name names, and he could list lists; but he did not want to. He did not want to tumble back into it.

_Grief. Bereavement. Severance from a being that has profound emotional consequences._ He wondered how Spock would say it. He wondered how many words he could put between it and himself.

And he wondered if Spock knew grief. He must, of course, though he would never say so. And Jim wanted to believe that Spock was not capable of that particular emotion, that at least one of them had been spared from ever feeling it.

He glanced at Spock, all cool colors, a tangle of blue and green, sharp angles and frowns. Something swelled in him, and he turned away. He looked instead at the warm yellow of the earth, the smiling suns, the red sky splattered with orange as if it were in perpetual sunrise.

“Spock, I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’m going to run.”

“I do not mind.” Spock’s voice was quiet, and Jim wondered if he was distracted.

But he lunged forward, towards the rippling mirages and the rolling hills, enjoying the dust and the sweat. His breaths ripped through him, and his feet pounded against the earth, and Spock trailed slowly behind.

*~****~*

Vulcan clouds were pink. Pink and orange. They were not easy to find, as Vulcan was not known for its precipitation nor its pollution, and Jim had begun to doubt that they existed at all until he saw the small pink-gold puff peeking out from behind the Terran embassy. He grinned so wide that Spock, as well as a few innocent Vulcan bystanders, gave him a puzzled look.

The embassy, like the rest of the city, stood tall and pillar-like. Stern statues and stern columns towered over them as they walked, watching them just as they had watched passersby for who knew how long. Well, Spock probably knew, but Jim enjoyed the mystery. There was history here, ancient and strange

Shi’Kahr was not known for its intergalactic diversity, at least not like San Francisco or any other major Terran city. Jim looked into the crowds and saw only stern, sharp faces and the dark colors of Vulcan robes, some of them decorated with a curving script he could not read. It was quiet in a way New York never was, even in the distant 1930s. He heard only the soft tones of deliberate words, the rustling of robes, and the fall of feet on sand.

“I like it here,” Jim announced as they entered their hotel suite. Mentally, he was tired, and he found some satisfaction in expressing a simple feeling with a simple statement: that he was happy on Vulcan. He stretched as he sat on the couch, enjoying the looseness of his muscles and the way the sweat still clung to his skin.

“I am glad,” Spock said and continued to stand, looking down at him. The suns had begun to set, casting long shadows on his face.

Jim returned his gaze. “Something on your mind?”

“Captain –”

“C’mon, Spock. We’re on vacation.” Just the word was enough to make him tired.

“Jim. May I make a suggestion?”

“Suggest away.”

“While the hotel’s accommodations are adequate, I believe that we would both be more comfortable outside of the city. I have been in contact with my parents, and they are willing to provide a space for us during the remainder of our trip.”

Jim stared at him. “I’m perfectly comfortable in the city, Spock.”

“My childhood home provides greater access to the desert you are so fond of exploring. There are also several sites of cultural interest nearby that I believe you would enjoy. Additionally, my parents were already expecting us to visit before we depart from Vulcan. It is the more logical option.”

“Logical,” Jim echoed, as if he had not processed the words.

“Affirmative.”

Anger rose in Jim like bile, sudden and unbidden and hotter than the Vulcan suns. He could not swallow it.

“Honestly, Spock. I don’t see what’s so logical about it. Was this McCoy’s idea? Did he ask you to keep an eye on me? To smuggle me away to your parents’ house where you could keep me safe?”

Spock looked at him, and something clicked.

“This entire trip was his idea, wasn’t it? I know you don’t need vacations, Spock; you’ve told me so a thousand times. And I’m telling you right now that I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Jim, I –”

“Was Bones going to declare me unfit for duty if I didn't agree to this?” The thought made him cold. He wasn't sure if he felt unfit. He wanted to believe that his captaincy fit him like it always did: easily and naturally. But right now he was angry for no reason and yelling at his first officer. “Do you think I'm too emotional? Do you think I don't know how to handle loss? Is that why you're here with me now?”

His anger was already fading, but Jim stood and approached Spock, trying to sustain the heat of argument. Spock merely stared, frozen either by emotion or lack thereof. His face was stiff and cast in chiaroscuro by the dim light.

“Computer, lights at 70%.” The room came into clarity, and Jim sighed. “Spock, you don’t need to be here. I am fine, and I will continue to be fine. I appreciate your company, but you must be sick of me by now. We just spent an entire month stuck in one room together.”

“I can assure you that I am not bothered by your company. And I am aware that you are emotionally mature enough that you do not require my presence; I merely desired to be here. I can also assure you that this trip was my idea and mine alone. While I am sure Dr. McCoy would have made a similar suggestion if given the chance, I have never allowed myself to be unduly influenced by his opinion.”

Jim laughed, suddenly and loudly. He looked out the window and saw that one of the suns had already set. “Spock, I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“There is no need to apologize, Jim.”

“Yes, there is.” He looked into Spock’s face, trying to find any signs of hurt. There were none, and he found some comfort in that. “I guess it would be rude to decline such a courteous offer from the Vulcan ambassador to Earth. Go ahead and tell your parents that we’ll be there tomorrow. If that works for you?”

“That is agreeable.”

Spock began to move towards his room, his black robes rustling as he walked. Jim watched him go. He remembered well enough how Ambassador Sarek had treated his son during the Babel mission, and he again doubted the sincerity of Spock’s desire to be at his parents’ house, let alone to be here at all.

But he didn’t want Spock to leave him. He felt the prospect like an ache and a chill, and he covered his eyes suddenly, rubbing them harshly, as if to block out the feeling.

He sat down in front of the window and stared at the lonely and setting sun. It no longer looked like it was smiling.

*~****~*

Jim liked New York.

He liked the noise and the people and the buildings that called themselves skyscrapers even though he had been to the sky and scraped against it himself and knew they were no such thing. It was different from the Terran cities he was used to: dirtier and busier and stanger, and he liked it.

Subways in particular fascinated him. They screeched through dark tunnels, over unlit tracks and past the city’s buried history, making the ground shake with their fury. Spock had zero confidence in their ability to transport them safely, but Jim insisted on taking them anyways, at least when they had the money.

Spock was at least amenable to trains. They traveled above ground, shook the earth only a reasonable amount, and they often proved necessary whenever Edith sent them on jobs outside the city.

The sun set quickly these days, and Jim was disappointed to see that the orange was already disappearing from the sky as they boarded the train. He and Spock had spent the entire day on the city’s edge helping with repairs on a bridge, and now they were returning to the New York and the small room they shared. They took their seats and waited for the train to heave its familiar sigh and begin its onward motion.

Spock did not like New York.

He never said as much, of course. But Jim could tell that he disliked the cold and the damp and the noisy alienness of the city. And that he felt out of place. The beanie hid his ears, but there was little they could do about the green tint of his skin, and he drew stares wherever they went.

Jim also knew that Spock was exhausted. They had been there almost three weeks now, and nearly every day they spent doing the odd jobs Edith gave them, barely making enough to get by. They built things, they repaired things, they cleaned things. And every night after Jim had crawled into bed, exhausted from the day and from the prospect of the coming day, Spock stayed up to work on his device. Some nights he didn’t come to bed at all, and Jim would wake to see him bent over circuitry, his profile barely illuminated by the sparks of wires and the pale morning light.

But Spock insisted that he was functioning adequately and that he did not require the same amount of rest Jim did, and Jim was forced to respect that.

The train chugged ponderously forward, and Jim watched as the city passed by. The stars were not very different in this time; three hundred years was not enough time to noticeably change their relative positions. But he thought that Sirius might be slightly brighter. He traced the lines of Canis Major, and then Orion, and then began looking for the familiar bull’s head.

There was a pressure on his shoulder. Abandoning the stars, Jim turned and found Spock’s head leant against him. For just a moment, concern passed through him; and then a barely contained laugh as he realized Spock had fallen asleep. He couldn’t see Spock’s face, but he could hear the short puffs of air that almost-but-not-quite sounded like snores. And he could feel his weight and his heat.

The train bumped slightly against the rails, and Spock leaned further into him. Jim had not thought it possible for Spock to simply fall asleep, not without intending to first. But he was grateful that he could and grateful for this moment, the way Spock’s face was pressed against him and the way he could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Slowly, Jim leaned his head into Spock’s beanie, which was in the process of slipping off, and into his tousled hair.

Jim’s life contained a few small forevers, moments that spread out into eternity even as time continued passing and his life went onward. Not all of them were good; in fact, some of them were extremely bad. He thought this one might be the best.

But eventually star light turned to city light, and they reached the city’s heart, and the train came to a halting stop. Spock sat up abruptly, his pupils blown wide and his mouth open in surprise. He straightened his beanie.

“Was I asleep for long?” Spock asked.

“Not very,” Jim replied.

They moved together out of the train and into Grand Central Station. It hummed with busy activity, a rush of people trying to get home and into bed so they could take the same trains and make the same trips tomorrow. A subway shook the ground beneath them.

A group of men pushed past, nearly separating them, and Jim took Spock by the sleeve. He began to lead him towards the station’s entrance, away from the crowd and the noise, and as his hold on the fabric began to slip, he instead took Spock’s hand.

He knew instantly that he shouldn’t have. He felt a hum beneath Spock’s skin, mental and emotional and belonging to Spock, not him. He felt as if he was touching something exposed and personal, something that did not want to be touched. Spock said nothing, but Jim began to let go, finger by finger.

They reached the exit and entered the city, and now only one finger connected them. The connection sparked in the cold, even as it was dying. Jim could not hold Spock’s hand. Not in this time especially, but also not in their own. This was the 1930s, and this was Spock, and Jim could not hold his hand.

He couldn’t look at him, so he looked at the stars, and he let go.

As they walked home, wrapped against the cold, his fingers tingled.

*~****~*

Morning came bright and hot.

They wasted no time making their way to the station. The shuttle carried them swiftly and directly and logically, past the spires and towers of Shi’Kahr, and delivered them to the city’s edge.

There was some green here, Jim was surprised to note. And some blue. A small body of water – it could not quite be called a pond – rested near a sandy hill, surrounded by strange flora and a bent tree. The tree was skeletal and red and did not provide much shade, but Jim supposed it was the guardian of its small oasis.

Up the sloping hill stood Spock’s house, tall and pale. It was made of sand and stone and, Jim guessed, was very old.

A woman, all scarves and robes that twisted in the breeze, appeared. She stood momentarily at the hill’s top, then began to hurry towards them.

“Mother,” Spock greeted, raising his hand in the ta’al as she approached.

“Spock.” The woman – Amanda Grayson, Jim remembered – beamed at her son. “I’m so glad you came.”

Jim imitated Spock’s gesture, dividing his fingers and taming his expression, though he doubted that it was necessary. “Ms. Grayson. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

“It’s a privilege, Captain. And if I remember correctly, I asked you to call me Amanda the last time we met.”

Her smile was infectious, and he returned it. “Jim, then.”

“I’m afraid you just missed Sarek. He went into the city on business.” She began leading them up the path and towards the stony house. “I believe he was pleased that you agreed to come, Jim. We’re both anxious to hear more about Spock’s life in Starfleet.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can tell a tall tale or two.”

Up close, the house’s pallor turned into a canvas of faded yellows and reds. Jim walked behind Spock as they entered, admiring the contrast between Spock’s blue robes and the sun-painted walls. He hummed happily to himself.

Amanda led him to the guest bedroom, a comfortably small and grey room that was connected to Spock’s by a wide balcony. Jim was surprised to find that particular architectural quirk on Vulcan: balconies spoke of romance and  _Where art thou?_ s and pining princes hidden in the bushes below. He teased Spock about it, asking how many hearts he had stolen, how many knights he had bewitched in his fair youth. Spock rewarded him with a raised eyebrow and a deadpan, “Vulcans do not engage in witchcraft, Jim.”

Spock was happy here. Jim could see it in the softening of his features, his relaxed posture. He was no longer a collection of hard lines and sharp angles; there were curves now too, and something like a smile. Jim was glad he had agreed to come.

After unpacking, Jim made his way down to the small oasis by the hill. He nodded to the red tree as it bent slightly in the breeze and began to study the strange flora it guarded over. A sunflower whose head seemed to follow him as he moved. A succulent, red and throbbing with water. A collection of grey roses that might have been spun from cobwebs. He knew immediately that these plants had not grown here naturally, that they had been cultivated and cared for.

He heard steps behind him. “You have found Mother’s garden,” Spock said.

Jim smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is aesthetically pleasing,” Spock admitted, nodding slightly. “It has not changed in size since I was a young child. She intended for it to grow, but she found very few specimens that were able to thrive in the Vulcan desert.”

Jim tried to imagine Spock as a child, and pictured a small boy with ears that were too big and a frown that was even bigger. He grinned at the thought, then turned away before Spock could see and ask him the source of his amusement.

“Did you like it here? As a child?” he asked.

“I cannot say that I either liked it or disliked it,” Spock said.

Jim looked at him, waiting for more. He felt a little reckless, and he asked, “But were you happy here?”

“While I was socially ostracized for much of my youth due to my dual heritage, I did find comfort in this garden, in the surrounding desert, and in that house on the hill.” Spock paused briefly, returning Jim’s steady gaze. “I believe you intend to ask me whether I considered this my home and whether I still do now. The answer is yes.”

“Home. It's really more of a human concept, isn't it? I’d imagine that on Vulcan a house is a house.”

Nodding slightly, Spock said, “And a ship is a ship. Although I have found the Enterprise to be much more than that. In some ways, I have come to consider it home as well. Although it is maudlin, the human saying ‘Home is where the heart is’ comes to mind.”

“It is _very_ maudlin,” Jim laughed.

“But it is nonetheless true that I value the Enterprise as more than a mere space vessel. I also value the crew she carries. I also value her captain.”

It took Jim only a moment to recover the air that had been knocked out of him. “Alright, Spock. Is there a reason we’re standing in your mother’s garden waxing poetic about starships and the nature of home?”

“I was attempting to make myself emotionally available,” Spock responded. “Apparently, I was not successful.”

“Why, Mr. Spock. I have never considered you anything  _but_ emotionally available.” Jim wasn't sure how to respond to Spock’s sudden emotional candor. He suspected that he wanted an exchange, that Jim was supposed to make a confession of his own. But one confession might lead to another, and there were some things he couldn't afford to say out loud.

He had confessed his love to Edith easily and naturally. They were on their way back from a movie, and they were looking at the starlight, and it had simply fallen out of him: “I love you.” But with Spock…

No longer able to hold Spock’s gaze, Jim looked away. He looked at the small pond, the smattering of color around it, Spock’s feet as they stood in the grass. His eyes found a swollen mass of a plant, orange and red and resembling a Venus flytrap. It stood, framed by leaves and blue petals, about five feet off the ground and leaned towards him. Like the succulents, it throbbed slightly, holding greedily onto something inside; though in this case Jim was not sure that something was water.

On any other world, he would have picked it. He probably would have stuck it right into his nose, and his fingers tingled slightly at the thought as he walked towards it. But on this planet and in this garden, he knew it did not belong to him.

So he poked it instead. And it sneezed.

Or rather it exploded: Jim saw Spock’s startled expression, and then there was pollen everywhere, in his eyes and in his nostrils, covering the ground and filling the air. Laughter burst from him. He put out his hands, trying to navigate his way through the newly yellow world towards the sound of Spock coughing. He found Spock’s arm and gripped it as he doubled over in his own coughing fit, and then a laughing fit.

“I fail to see the humor in the situation,” Spock said, the air still thick with yellow. He had not moved away from Jim’s touch.

“I've only had one or two things explode on me like that before. And neither of them were plants,” Jim said, smiling at him.

The entirety of Spock’s face was dusted in yellow and orange. It was in his hair, his eyelashes, on his lips. Jim realized he was leaning in too close, that he wanted to lean in closer, and also that he wanted desperately to flee. Slowly, he lowered his hand from Spock’s arm and took a step back.

He grinned at him.

“Your teeth are yellow, Jim.”

Jim again burst into laughter, then began to walk towards the sandy hill. “I guess we should clean up. I’d hate if your father got back and we looked like a pair of Saurian finches.”

As they made their way towards the house, Jim talked happily about flora and etymologies. Why, he asked Spock, do you suppose they’re called Venus flytraps? Why not Adonis flytraps after all?

*~****~*

Jim sat in the grey guest room and listened to the sound of the sonic shower. He felt the beginnings of a headache, and he rubbed his temples, trying to chase the tension away.

The shower stopped, and a door opened, and then Jim heard Spock moving around in the bedroom next to his. 

He walked onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, staring over the dunes at the glowering twin suns and the stagnated sunrise. Even the mirages here were red. He looked for a cloud, some kind of pink relief, but he found none.

An entire world had grown up here. Spock had grown up here. But Jim suddenly found the heat unbearable, and he retreated back into the house and towards the bathroom to take his own shower.

*~****~*

They spent the rest of the day within the cool walls of the house, talking with Amanda and helping her prepare dinner.

She chatted happily about Vulcan and about Spock’s childhood, telling Jim about his schooldays, his academic achievements, his pet sehlat I-Chaya.

“The poor thing hardly ever left Spock’s side. Especially as he got older. They were inseparable.”

Spock remained silent, providing no commentary except for the occasional upturned eyebrow. As Amanda recalled a story from Spock’s teenage years – he apparently had a disagreement with an instructor over one of the finer points of Surakian philosophy and caused a minor scandal at his school – Jim noticed a softening of Spock’s features. He was calm and relaxed and maybe even fond, and Jim smiled to himself, grateful for Amanda’s presence.

Sarek arrived with the shadows of sunset. For a moment, Jim forgot where he was and who he was greeting, and began to extend his hand towards the ambassador. He let it hover between them only a moment before he raised it in the ta’al, hoping the awkward movement hadn’t been as obvious as it felt.

Sarek returned the gesture. “Welcome to our home, Captain Kirk. It is good to see you again.”

Amanda’s fingertips reached towards Sarek’s in greeting. Jim watched, and he felt something stir within him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Amanda said. “We have dinner waiting on the table.”

As they sat down, Jim felt the tension in his temples slowly returning. He reached for the glass of water beside his plate and took a long gulp.

“I hope that you are adjusting well to the Vulcan climate, Captain,” Sarek said. “I admit I was somewhat surprised to learn that you had chosen our planet for your shore leave. It is not a prime destination spot among vacationing officers.”

Jim wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to smile, but he smiled all the same. “I’m adjusting well, thank you. Vulcan was actually your son’s suggestion. He made a very convincing case: he absolutely raved about the sand and the dust and your natural wealth of sweltering heat. I just couldn’t resist.”

Sarek raised an eyebrow but said nothing. In the silence, Jim’s headache blossomed.

Spock cleared his throat. “Vulcan is a pleasant contrast to New York. Our previous mission required us to spend an extended amount of time there.”

“New York?” Amanda said. “You should have told me, Spock. I used to teach in the city. I still have students there.”

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but Sarek said, “I thought the Enterprise was on a deep space mission, Captain. Why is it making pit stops in New York?”

“Temporal anomalies made it necessary for the captain and I to remain there without the Enterprise crew,” Spock said before Jim could respond. “As these anomalies all emanated from events in New York, it was imperative that we stayed there until they were corrected.”

“Temporal anomalies?”

“Time travel,” Jim clarified. He took a bite of the green dish that sat in front of him and tried not to grimace through the bitter leaves.

“Time travel? Really?”

“Indeed,” said Spock. “We traveled approximately 335 years, seven months and five days into Earth’s past.”

“Much of the planet was going through an economic depression at the time,” Jim said and tried to take another bite of his salad.

“I am familiar with Terran history, Captain. Thank you.”

Jim nodded, trying to swallow his mouthful of alien plants so he could reply. He began coughing.

Smiling, Amanda put a hand on his shoulder. “Jim, if you're having half the trouble adjusting to Vulcan cuisine as I did, you should probably purchase some dietary supplements. I'm afraid you'll find very little protein in our meals. I also have some synthesized meats in storage if you need them.”

Jim shook his head. “Thank you, Amanda. I'm sure I can go a few days without red meat. It'll probably be a personal record.” He didn't particularly enjoy the prospect, but Sarek was giving him a hard look and he wasn't about to start asking for favors. “Besides, I think my appetite may have shrunk in New York. They didn't call it the Great Depression for nothing.”

The joke sounded hollow and lame even to him.

“Captain.” Sarek kept using the word, and it was beginning to sound like an insult. “Do you believe it wise to share details of what must surely be considered a very sensitive mission?”

Amanda cleared her throat harshly.

“Um –” Jim began.

“Father. Neither I nor Captain Kirk would divulge Starfleet secrets. We are merely endeavoring to answer your questions.” Spock's face was like stone.

Silence fell on them, and Jim used it to count the beats of his pounding headache.

“The only sensitive part of the mission is _how_ we traveled back in time,” Jim said, ignoring the tension that stretched wide and taut across the table. “Not that we did. Or where and when we went.”

“I see.” Sarek took a bite of his food and chewed slowly.

Jim did the same, and silence settled on the table. He was grateful as the pounding in his head began to subside and was replaced by the soft scrape of silverware. At any other time and in any other place, he would have returned Sarek’s hostility. He would have allowed himself to get a little too angry and a little too loud, and he probably would have regretted it later. But he searched himself for the reassuring heat of anger and found only a dull tiredness and a damp chill.

Jim straightened himself, no longer content to let the conversation die, and said, “Thank you again for welcoming me into your home. I’m grateful for the relative calm of Vulcan. New York is – well, it was very different. The mission took its emotional toll.”

Sarek glanced at Spock before turning his hard stare to Jim. “Emotional? In what way?”

Jim felt a chill grip him. He knew diplomacy, and he knew chess, and he knew that he had made a wrong move. Spock glanced at him, and he felt the chill deepen. His mind went to her and the red pavement and the scream, and he couldn't think of anything else.

“Well –”

“Father, I believe the captain is engaging in what is commonly known as ‘small talk.’ I am sure you are familiar with it and know that humans often speak without precise meaning or direction.” Spock’s face was all lines, hard and deep.

Jim nodded, regaining his smile. “If you'll allow me to be imprecise and directionless, Ambassador, I was referring to being away from my ship and crew for a month. A kind of homesickness, if you will.”

“I understand,” Sarek said. And with that, they finished their meal in silence.

*~****~*

Jim leaned against the balcony railings, looking at the black desert and the stars above it.

There were no city lights to pollute the sky here, and the stars shone brighter than he had yet seen them on Vulcan. He studied their patterns, looking for familiar shapes but finding none. A breeze blew in from the desert, and he shivered.

Spock’s door opened. Jim continued to stare at the shadowed dunes and volcanoes as he walked to his side.

“I apologize, Jim. I cannot explain my father’s behavior. It was extremely aberrant and highly offensive.”

“I thought I made a rather good impression during the Babel Conference,” Jim said, turning to look at Spock. His face was cast in black and starlight, and Jim smiled.

“As did I,” Spock said.

They both turned to gaze at the hills and the stars.

“Do you think we should leave? Go back to the city?” Jim didn’t particularly like the idea of retreating, but he also didn’t like the idea of meeting Sarek’s cold gaze again.

“No,” Spock said. “I will talk to him.”

“I’d rather not cause any family drama,” Jim said. “At least your mom likes me.”

“Yes, I believe my mother enjoys having another human present.”

“Not to mention my winning personality.” Jim didn’t need to look at Spock to know he was frowning at him.

Spock rested his hand on the rail and leaned towards him. “Are you alright, Jim?”

Jim looked at him. “Are you trying to make yourself emotionally available again, Mr. Spock?”

Something passed over Spock’s features, something Jim could only get a glimpse of before it retreated back into the hard lines and dark craters of his face. “In fact, I was.”

“Well, I’m fine. Thank you.” Jim turned back to the dunes. He yawned.

“Are you fatigued, Jim?”

“Only in spirit, Spock,” he said, laughing.

Spock nodded and said, “I believe I will retire. Good night, Jim.”

“Good night, Spock.”

Jim lingered a while after Spock had left, returning his gaze to the stars. He had meant to ask Spock about Vulcan constellations, but had forgot. Stargazing was not the most logical pursuit, but Jim suspected that at least ancient Vulcans had found shapes in the stars.

He would have traced his own constellations, but the chill chased him away.

*~****~*

He tried to picture her as he fell asleep, and he saw her in black and white, like the film stars from that distant time. She moved through celluloid, looking up, up, up at something beyond the frame. Her movement was stuttered and her hair haloed by backlight. She was dead and had been for over three hundred years. But she smiled then, and he knew he still loved her.

*~****~*

 Spock had suggested that they visit an art museum.

Jim tried to imagine what Vulcan art would look like and failed utterly. He supposed it would be full of people. He had seen enough statues, towering monuments to the dead and important, in Shi’Kahr. The museum would probably be more of the same: statues and portraiture, sharp rocks and sharp features. It did not sound particularly interesting, but Jim did not want to stay in the house, even with Sarek spending the day in the city. So he consented, and he thought he might have seen the ghost of a smile cross Spock’s face when he did.

The museum was on the edge of the badlands, tucked inside a mountain. There was something Gothic about it, and it was more severe than even the tall rocks it was built into, tall and dark and covered with edges. Small blue birds ran past its entrance like roadrunners. It was a strange place to put art. But then again, the entire planet was strange.

Spock led him through the tall doors and into the central chamber. A tapestry hung on the wall, rippling as the doors open, waving its greeting. The sunlight lit its contents, showing a single man surrounded by an ordered collection of celestial bodies.

“A famous depiction of Surak,” Spock explained. He raised an eyebrow. “Many believe he would object to such an idealized portrayal.”

Jim wanted to ask the tapestry’s age, to comment on the man’s stylized features, the long severity of his face, and the all-too-perfect universe that surrounded him. But the doors had closed, and the room was full of dim light and silence, and he didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the place.

He could hear only the soft tap of their own feet as Spock led him deeper into the museum.

The Pre-Reform exhibit was vast. It did not, as Jim expected, feature people. But it did feature bodies: bodies that were sculpted from stone and paint, bodies in mass and bodies alone. They huddled and swarmed, their actions vague but full of something primal. Jim wasn’t sure if the abstraction of the figures was intentional, or if age had made their lines wild and their bodies fall apart.

Spock translated the titles for him, and Jim marvelled at the straightforward descriptions of the strange scenes:  _Warrior Women in Armor_ , _Men Bathing in a Lake_ , _Bonding Ceremony_. He studied the splayed forms and the embraces of shadowed statues, the sexual frenzy in their limbs, and he wondered if there was a reason Spock had skipped over certain pieces.

Pre-Reform turned into Reform, and the intersecting lines became tame. Jim supposed that they were figures, but they no longer touched and they were dressed in gold leaf and strange abstraction.

“Reform-era artists were extremely preoccupied with depicting their subject’s katra,” Spock explained. “For some, it was a reaction against Surak’s teachings. They believed his dictum of logic suppressed the katra.”

“Katra? Like the Vulcan soul?”

“The eternal soul, yes. For others, the style was an affirmation of his philosophy. They believed logic strengthened the katra.” Spock nodded towards a large canvas. “This is one such artist’s depiction of Surak.”

Jim could see no resemblance to the man who had greeted them in the hall. He saw something celestial, like a sun bursting into nova. The canvas was white and splattered with heavy blue paint and flecks of gold leaf. A chaos of black swarmed below, and Jim wasn’t sure if the katra was ascendent or descendent. Either way, he liked it.

“And what’s the consensus on this one? Do people think that Surak would have approved?” Jim asked.

“Some believe he would disapprove of art entirely. In their opinion, it is not a very logical pursuit. I, however, am more inclined towards the belief that he would appreciate the abstracted representation. We do not know what he looked like, as no accurate depiction of his physical appearance has been preserved. And I do not believe it is a great loss as long as we know what his katra looked like.”

Spock studied the painting, and Jim studied Spock. He was as composed as always, with a face like stone in the dim light. But Jim wondered if he might see his katra if he looked long enough.

“When I was a child,” Spock said, still looking at the painting, “I did not believe I had a katra due to my human heritage. It caused me great concern at the time.”

“And now?” Jim asked.

Spock looked at him. “Now I am not sure that it matters. We all find rest in the end, eternal soul or no. But I do know that I have one. I have felt it.”

Jim wanted to take his hand, to squeeze it, to do everything he wasn’t allowed to do. But instead he smiled and said, “It’s getting late. Don’t you want to show me the rest of the museum?”

Spock nodded, and they headed towards the Modern exhibit.

There were no bodies here, only shapes. It was the Vulcan Jim new: a world obsessed with geometry and symmetry, the alignment of thought and stars and reason. He studied a painting of five pillars that represented the IDIC. It was not exactly symbolism, he supposed, but at least it wasn’t portraiture. He thought he liked it.

He found one painting at the end of the exhibit that contained only two circles. They overlapped almost entirely, as if eclipsing each other, their colors blending into something that wasn’t quite chaos and wasn’t quite harmony. Jim looked at the title written in Vulcan script and the same title in Standard below it.

_T'hy'la_. Jim wanted to ask what it meant, but when he turned around he saw that Spock had already begun to walk away. He glanced back at the painting and then hurried after him.

*~****~*

They spent the rest of the day by the museum, wandering along the edge of the badlands.

Jim found a small pond tucked into the mountain and immediately began to strip. He wanted to bathe in blue, to view the red world from beneath the warm waters. But his feet hit the bottom, and rocks tore at his toes, and soon the water was no longer blue but slightly pink with his blood.

He resigned himself to lying by its side. Spock sat down nearby and watched the waters as Jim closed his eyes and thought of katras.

“Did you ever paint, Spock?”

“Yes. I was not very good at it. My talents lie in music.”

Jim smiled and nodded. He thought of Spock’s hands running along the strings of a Vulcan harp, plucking out a strange tune, tightening the strings.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked.

“I have no preference.”

“I was thinking we could hike out to that rocky outcropping. You know, the one we can see from the balcony.”

“I find that agreeable.”

Jim hummed to himself, happy at the prospect.

They stayed there, content with the desert around them, until the sky turned purple and the stars began to appear.

*~****~*

The days were longer on Vulcan and the nights shorter.

When Jim woke, he still felt sleep dragging at his limbs and a fatigue nestled heavily in his chest. The night had been restless and short, and he tried to shake it from himself as he looked out the window. The suns peaked over the dunes, turning the sky crimson and gold, and he stretched happily in the invading warmth.

They had a quick breakfast of Vulcan spice tea and Plomeek soup (“I would have preferred eggs and coffee, but I guess this will do”), packed their supplies, and then headed into the desert.

Even the mirages were red on Vulcan. They rippled in the distance like pools of blood, and Jim found the sight almost humorous. The entire planet was like an open wound.

“May I remind you, Jim, that the Vulcan desert houses many wild and dangerous fauna. Most are nocturnal, but they are more common here than in the areas immediately around Shi’Kahr. We would do well to keep a look out.”

Jim, who had been distracted by an unusually large and unusually pink cloud in the distance, turned towards Spock. “Right. The reptilian cats with venomous fangs.”

“It is not the _le-matya_ ’s bite that is venomous, but rather its claws.” Spock paused and looked at Jim pointedly. “And there is no known antidote.”

Laughing, Jim said, “Alright, Spock. Thank you for the warning. Cat scratch fever in the middle of the desert would put quite a damper on our vacation.”

The desert stretched. The hills rolled. The suns shined. And Jim hummed, happy and in concert with the universe. He kicked the sands beneath him, and the breeze blew them in Spock’s direction. A quiet coughing, and Jim laughed out his apology.

He could have swallowed the suns he was so happy.

They reached the rocky outcropping after a few hours of walking, when the suns had not quite reached their zenith. The rocks stretched red against the redder sky, jagged and tall and entirely uninviting.

Jim nodded towards Spock. “Do you want to climb it?”

“No. But I did not imagine that you came here merely to satisfy a geological curiosity.” There was a smile in Spock’s voice, even if there wasn’t one on his face.

Laughing, Jim slapped him on the shoulder and headed towards the rocks.

They hadn’t packed any climbing supplies, so Jim began looking for a passage through the tall crags. He found one finally, narrow and but not impossibly so, and waved Spock towards him. As he began to squeeze through, he examined the red rock in front of him and the sand that came off in his hands. This place was ancient, he knew; the entire planet was older than anywhere he had ever been on Earth. The alienness of it suddenly struck him.

As the passage widened into a small trail, Jim turned to Spock.

“You have a lovely planet, you know.”

“Vulcan does not belong to me, and I cannot take credit for its aesthetic value. But thank you.”

Jim smiled as he began to clamber over a rock.

The suns shone relentlessly, and Jim suspected that his skin would start to burn soon. But he enjoyed the heat and the sweat, and he didn’t mind a little pain. His fingers pressed against the hard rock, and his feet dug into the ground, and they moved steadily upward.

They hit a rocky wall, short but sheer, and Spock pulled a knife out of his backpack. He dug it into the dirt and began his ascent. Jim watched the roll of his shoulder blades, the glint of his knife, the soft billow of his robes. He suddenly wished that Vulcans could sweat.

Spock threw the knife down to him, and Jim followed, allowing the exertion to chase his thoughts away. He climbed over and saw a steep drop that led to a bowl of red rocks and a green pool. Leaning forward, he realized the blue-green waters were a volcanic spring. It steamed and boiled, and a rush of water shot into the air.

Smiling, Jim began to make his way down into the rocky bowl.

They stood together by the volcanic spring, watching the waters churn and the bubbles burst. The steam rose to Jim’s face, and the suns beat down on him, and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

A  tall ledge jutted out from one of the rocky faces, and they sat down in its shade and unpacked their lunches. Alien fruits and some kind of starch. Jim frowned at the meal, but ate it all the same, ignoring the bite of hunger in his stomach.

He stretched in the shade, allowing his eyes to close against the warmly colored world. Vaguely, he was aware that Spock had risen and was walking towards the spring. He wondered how old its waters were, how hot the magma beneath it.

What a strange world to have built itself among volcanos. Always hot and angry and ready to burst. And its inhabitants were cool shades, blue paint strokes on a bright red canvas. Tight frowns and slanted eyebrows and green hearts…

And Spock. Who was not quite the same. Who probably had magma inside him, but who also had soft lines and soft robes and soft hands...

A rush of water erupted from the spring, and Jim wasn’t sure if he had been dozing, but now he was wide awake. Confused, he looked around for Spock, but couldn’t see him anywhere. With one long stretch, he stood and walked into the sunlight, shielding his eyes as he searched the rocks for Spock’s familiar shape.

The world was full of dead air. Steam rose from the spring, bending the space around it. For a moment, Jim wondered if Spock had left him.

But he spotted him finally on top of the rock face. Spock stood perfectly still, only his hair and robes moving as a breeze blew past him. He seemed to be looking at something.

Jim smiled at the sight. “What are you looking for?” he called.

His words echoed, and Spock turned towards him with an open mouth.

_Cute_ was all Jim had time to think before something crashed into him.

He flew against the red wall, his head hitting against it savagely. Whiteness blinded him. Shock and confusion seized every limb, freezing him to the spot.

And then he regained the world and saw the bristle of green and yellow fur, the scaley cat’s paws, and the unsheathed claws.

The _le-matya_ stood in front of him, every muscle tense and ready to pounce. Jim blinked against the sight, wondering why it was not pouncing now, why it had not pounced already.

And then he saw its eyes. Its pupils were slits that had retreated from the suns’ light, impossibly small but still searching. They were snake’s eyes.. The cat could see nothing but the hot colors of infrared, which did little when he was surrounded by volcanic springs. And it could see motion. And right then he was motionless with fear.

But its ears were searching for him too. And they were cat’s ears, and they strained forward, green and twitching and listening to every sound he made.

He inhaled, and the cat began to move.

He had nowhere to run except along the tall rock face. His legs tripped into motion, and he felt as if he were falling instead of running. The red world flew past him. He wondered if he might trip. He knew that he would reach the volcanic springs in only a few meters, that he was trapped. There had to be a ledge somewhere, some kind of foothold or handhold that he could use to haul himself up…

“Jim!” He could here Spock’s voice behind him, but he didn’t dare turn to find him. “Run to your left!”

Left would lead him to another sheer wall. Left would mean a dead end and the savage burn of venom. He could hear the cat’s paws as they hit the earth. He could feel its hot breath on his back. He knew that soon enough he would feel the rip of its claws.

He turned left.

Something splashed in the springs beside him, and Jim thought it might have been Spock’s backpack. The cat paused for a moment, distracted by the sound. Jim no longer felt its breath on his back.

The wall was closer than he thought, and he practically slammed into it, his hands hitting against it roughly as he looked up at its sheer face. He searched for a ledge, a boulder, anything he could climb. But the rock was flat. There was nothing.

He spun around. Instinctively, he reached for his belt, hand grasping for a phaser that wasn’t there. The knife, he remembered, was still with Spock. The cat had slowed as if unsure of its prey’s location. But its ears twitched and its tongue – a snake’s tongue – slipped from its mouth and tasted the air. It looked at him and lunged.

“Jim, move!”

Fear gripped him, tight and choking. He could not think, but he did as Spock said. He jumped to the side.

Something tugged at him from behind and he heard a ripping sound, louder than anything he had ever heard. He wasn’t sure what was ripping, and he hoped it wasn’t his skin.

And then a loud crash as he tripped and fell to his knees.

Jim turned around, knowing that he would see the slant of snake eyes and the glint of claws. Knowing that that would probably be the last thing he ever saw.

But instead he saw dust, red and swirling into his eyes. He blinked against it. Where he had stood only moments before, there was now a boulder. And under it was a collection of smashed bones and green fur, blood pooling out from beneath. The cat’s limbs continued to writhe like a severed snake’s head that still bit.

He gaped at the sight. A figure appeared atop the rock face, then jumped onto the boulder and slid, careful to avoid the twitching paws, down to Jim’s side.

“Jim!” Spock said as he gripped his arm. “Jim, please breathe.”

He hadn’t realized he had stopped breathing, but he did as Spock asked and took a deep breath.

“Your shirt is ripped,” Spock said, and then Jim felt hands all over him as Spock searched for wounds, careful but insistent. “Did it scratch you?”

Jim shook his head, but he wasn’t sure. There was still too much adrenaline, too much thrumming heat, and he could feel nothing else.

He took another deep breath. “I think I’m OK.” He did not like sitting on the ground. He did not like Spock’s look of concern. He did not like the fact that he would probably go into shock soon.

He tried to stand, but his legs shook and buckled beneath him. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Alright, I guess I’ll sit for a while.”

“I do not believe it scratched you,” Spock said. “It was, however, close. It appears that its claws became caught in your shirt.”

Jim remembered the ripping sound and took another deep breath, pushing the memory away. The feeling was slowly returning to his limbs, and he realized his head hurt. And his hand.

Looking down, he saw that there was a gash in his palm. He watched as the red blood dripped onto the red ground.

And for a moment he thought of blood on pavement, bright with red and rain. He thought he heard her scream.

Spock grabbed his wrist, dragging him back into the moment, and Jim felt the friction of thoughts and the hum of wires against his skin. He felt it like the erupting spring.

“I’m fine, Spock. It’s worse than it looks.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, it looks worse than it is.”

Gently, Jim withdrew his hand from Spock’s grasp. He immediately missed the touch. Already, he could feel the beginning chills of shock, and he tried to blink away the cold that gripped at his mind.

“Are you concussed?” Spock asked. He thought he saw Spock glance at his head, which he supposed was probably bleeding. He felt something wet and hot drip down his face.

“I don’t think so.” Jim took a deep breath, trying to steady himself even as the world stayed unsteady. “We packed a med kit, didn’t we?”

“Yes. It was in my backpack. I unfortunately did not have time to remove it before I threw it into the spring.”

Jim nodded distantly and breathed deeply and tried to regain reality. He wanted Spock to touch him again. He wanted the friction of skin and thoughts and the heat of it all. He did not want the chills that gripped him now.

A hug. That was what he wanted. But he didn’t move, and neither did Spock. He just sat there, waiting for the chills to end and hoping the heat would come back on its own.

*~****~*

The desert was silent around them as they walked back.

Jim paced his steps with the pounding in his head. And Spock paced his steps with Jim’s. A strong wind blew against them, chasing them home, and Jim wondered if the weather was about to turn.

A pain, sudden and electric, pierced his head. He inhaled sharply.

“Do you require aid, Jim?” Spock asked.

“Not unless you can do something about this headache,” Jim said, smiling at him in the fading light.

“I cannot.”

One of the suns had begun to set. Jim looked at the purple flames around it, at the other sun that still hung bright and red in the sky. And he looked at Spock, who had turned the other direction and whose face he could only barely see.

“You sure made quick work of that _le-matya_. Poor thing didn’t know what hit him.” Jim cleared his throat awkwardly.

Spock nodded. “I regret that I could not predict its presence. Typically, they prefer the hills and do not venture out except at night. The last time I encountered one was in the distant southern dunes.”

“You’ve seen one before?”

“Yes. During my _kahs-wan_ , my Vulcan test of maturity. I was seven at the time.”

“Seven?” Jim said. “That’s one hell of a maturity test. And I don’t suppose you had any rocks to drop on it?”

“No. Fortunately for me, I-Chaya followed me into the desert.”

“Your pet sehlat?”

Spock nodded. “He protected me from the beast. Unfortunately, he was not spared from the venom and eventually succumbed.”

A wind, sudden and strong, pushed against Jim, and he shivered. The other sun had begun to set, turning the sky into a flaming purple. He was not sure what to do with Spock’s confession. It was different from the one he had given him in the garden, and he didn't feel like he was expected to give his own in return.

“Thank you, Spock. For saving me.”

“You are welcome, Jim.”

Jim smiled to himself. He was exhausted, and he hurt, and the winds bit at the skin exposed by his torn shirt. But at least the sky was purple. At least there was still enough light to cast their silhouettes on the sand. And at least their shadows touched.

*~****~*

They returned home as the last sun set and the sky was cast in black. Jim looked up to search for the stars, but found none. The purple clouds, he realized, had turned into black clouds, and they covered the sky completely.

The storm arrived with them, almost as if it had chased them across the desert.

Jim listened to the gales as he entered the guest room, spare med kit in hand. The rain pounded against the walls almost as hard as the pain that pounded against his skull.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down on the bed. The room spun slightly. It had probably been unwise to decline Spock’s help, but he wanted a moment by himself before he had to go down for dinner.

He injected a hypo to ease the pain, then took the dermal regenerator and began to heal his hand. The warm hum of the machine offered some comfort in the dim room. He then began to apply it awkwardly to his head, only realizing afterwards that he hadn’t sanitized the wounds before healing them.

Well, he’d probably be OK. At least his head no longer felt like it would crack open.

The bed lay before him welcomingly, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself in its sheets. But he knew his hosts were waiting, so he changed out of his torn clothes, washed the blood and dirt from his face, and headed to the kitchen.

“Jim!” Amanda exclaimed as he entered the room. “Are you alright?”

The family had already sat down at the table, and for a moment Jim stood awkwardly at its head as they all turned towards him. He smiled. “A little worse for wear, but I’ll live.”

Jim could feel Sarek looking at him, and he avoided his gaze as he took a seat next to Spock. He picked up his fork and looked down at the green dish in front of him.

“I’m afraid, Captain, that the Vulcan desert is not very hospitable to off-worlders. You should not feel embarrassed that you did not prove a match for it and its inhabitants.” The kitchen light was cold, and Sarek’s gaze was cold, and Jim wasn’t sure what to say.

“Alright,” he responded. He tried to smile.

Amanda cleared her throat. “I'm glad you two got home before the weather turned. We don't get storms very often, but they tend to be bad when we do.”

Nodding, Sarek said, “Yes. Even I was surprised to see the clouds move in so quickly.”

Jim wondered if surprise was a human emotion, but thought better than to ask. He studied the alien vegetables on his plate and suddenly realized he wasn’t hungry.

“It reminds me of the storms we’d get in Iowa,” he said. Even now, they could hear the winds battering the house. “One moment the sky is clear, and the next you’re in the middle of a tornado.”

“I have never received the privilege of visiting Iowa during my time on Earth,” said Sarek. “Duty often keeps me in San Francisco.”

Shrugging, Jim said, “I grew up in the middle of nowhere. A lot of cornfields and cows. It’s not much to look at.”

Sarek raised an eyebrow. “I see."

Jim shivered. He looked back down at the plate in front of him. The vegetables were limp and wet, and the sight made his stomach churn. Slowly, he took a bite.

“Jim, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Amanda asked.

He realized that he was leaning forward a little too far and immediately straightened himself. He tried to smile and hoped it didn’t turn into a grimace. “I’m fine, thank you. Just tired.”

Rain pounded against the house, and he felt the familiar pressure returning to his temples. He took another bite.

“Captain,” Sarek said. “Do you believe time travel had a negative physical impact on your person?”

Jim blinked. “None that I noticed. Why?”

“I have noted your state of enervation ever since you arrived here. I am seeking to determine if it is a result solely of the Vulcan climate, or if travelling through time has fatiguing physical effects.”

“I was unaffected by the mission,” said Spock.

“Yes, but you are Vulcan.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Half Vulcan.”

“Either way, you possess a stronger constitution than your captain.” Sarek turned back towards Jim. “If time travel is physically tolling on weaker beings, then surely this is something Starfleet must consider before they continue exploring it.”

Jim wasn’t sure how much longer he could maintain his smile before his smile before it collapsed on itself. “I will relay your concerns to Starfleet. But I think my state of enervation is a result of something else entirely.”

“May I ask what that is, Captain?”

“You may. But I’d rather not answer.”

Even the winds must have been holding their breath as silence fell down on them. Jim felt it like a heavy weight, and he realized he was leaning forward again. It was crushing and suffocating, and he wasn’t sure he could right himself this time.

Something touched his leg. He looked down and saw Spock’s knee pressed against his own. Gently, he pressed back. The touch was small and skinless and there was no electricity to it, but it was enough. He straightened in his chair.

“Amanda. Ambassador. I’m sorry, but I think I’ll have to retire. It was a long day.”

Retreat didn’t fit him well, and he wasn’t sure how to wear it. But the alternative was sitting here with the weight of silence and allowing himself to be crushed by it. So he hurried from the room, his feet a tiny bit unsteady and his mind tired and tripping.

The guestroom greeted him with a wide door and wide walls. He closed himself inside and listened to the raging storm. He thought about Spock’s leg pressed against his, the brief contact, the energy and thoughts he couldn’t feel but somehow felt anyways. And he wanted to touch him again, because right then all he really wanted was touch.

There was something wet on his face. He reached up and realized his nose was bleeding. Red spotted his shirt, and Jim thought he had seen enough of red these last few days. He leaned forward and waited for it to pass, hoping that the pressure would leave his head soon, that the room would stop spinning, that the chill crawling up his spine would go away.

The bleeding stopped, but the spinning continued, and he laid down on the bed. Lightning illuminated the room, and he counted the seconds (one...two...three...four...five) until thunder boomed in the sky. Five seconds, and one mile away. But it might as well have been in here with him, because he felt the storm in his veins and his bones and the uneasy dreams he fell into as drifted off to sleep.

*~****~* 

Jim awoke to darkness.

A chill, violent and ice-cold, passed through him. It gripped him like death, like a living rigor, and he could barely move.

A storm raged outside, and he moved finally, but only to tremble. He could hear the pounding winds, the loose shutters, a tree being ripped from its roots. And he could hear something else.

“Spock?” His throat was sore, the word coming out in a rasp.

A long pause, and then the sound of a match striking wood.

The flame illuminated Spock’s face in the blackness. He looked down at Jim and said, “The power has gone out. I was searching for matches. 

“Oh.” The entire room flickered in front of him, off and on, and he shivered.

And then Spock’s hand was on his face. Jim gasped at the contact, leaning involuntarily into his palm. The touch was hot, and it buzzed, and he was grateful when it lingered, because right then he could not bear the thought of being submerged back into the icy blackness.

“You have a fever, Jim.”

He blinked, trying to focus on Spock’s face. “Oh.”

Spock frowned at him, and Jim smiled back.

“I doubt that it’s bad,” he said, even as the room flickered again. He tried not to lean too heavily into Spock’s hand. And then, without quite thinking, he asked, “But could you stay a little longer?”

With those words, a fresh chill tore through him, and every part of him quaked.

“I will retrieve a medical kit,” Spock said. Jim felt the warmth and the buzz slipping from him, and he reached out in desperation, grasping in the darkness for Spock’s hand. He found it, and he felt something electric in the touch. But his fingers were weak with sleep and fever, and he knew he could not hold him there.

“Please,” Jim whispered, “don’t go.”

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was soft, almost too soft to hear over the roaring winds. “You require medical attention.”

Jim tried to tighten his grip on Spock’s hand, but his fingers were too weak. “I don't need a hypo. Just stay with me.”

Spock said nothing, only stood there, his face invisible in the black. Silence spread in front of Jim, wide and deep, and he felt the rejection like a stone.

And then Spock was gone, Jim’s hand grasping at nothing but cold air, and grief overtook him.

It always came back to grief. And he could name names, and he could list lists; and he did so now. Because it was not just Edith; it was not just Sam and Aurelan, nor the crew members he had lost, nor the kids on Tarsus IV. It was Spock, who he loved, and who did not love him back.

Spock had taken the match with him, and Jim could see only black. His sheets were drenched in sweat, and he tried to kick them off, but succeeded only in twisting them into knots. He was not used to hopelessness. If asked, he would probably have said he did not believe in it. But it overtook him now, and he allowed it. He closed his eyes and curled into himself, trying to create his own heat. Still, the cold wracked his body, violently and repeatedly, and he struggled to breathe.

He wondered why he had come to this planet. This planet that did not want him. With a man who did not want him.

But then he felt a heat on his face. Jim opened his eyes to see a candle resting on the table, its orange flame flickering in the black night. A blanket wrapped around him. And then arms. Spock’s hands reached around and gripped his own, and the buzz returned, and the heat. Jim could feel his body relaxing against Spock’s. Their fingertips touched, and Jim felt emotions that were not his own, warmth and affection and something deeper and heavier that dragged him towards sleep.

And there was something electric, something that sparked, hot and bright, and illuminated the  blackness.

Their fingers intertwined. Jim could feel Spock’s breath on the back of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest and the beating heart in his side.

He meant to whisper, _thank you_. He meant to cry in relief. He meant to rub his palms against Spock’s in gratitude. But instead he drifted off to sleep.

*~****~*

Morning came bright and soft.

Jim’s fever had burnt itself out in the night. He opened his eyes and saw the soft beams of sunlight filtering through the window. The light was paler than usual, and he wondered if the suns were still obscured by pink and gold clouds.

He could feel the damp chill of the night’s fever, as if his edges still needed to thaw. He could feel the world coming out slowly and timidly after the bitter storm, as if afraid that it might come back. And he could feel Spock.

Spock’s arms were still wrapped around him and his body still pressed against his own. Jim did not want to move, did not want to wake him, but he was overcome suddenly by panic, and he began to work his way out of Spock’s embrace. Whatever Spock had meant to offer last night, whatever that gesture had meant to him, Jim was sure it would mean something else now in the morning light.

He slowly worked his way out of Spock’s arms, moving to the other side of the bed, wondering if he could escape the room unnoticed. But he looked at Spock then, and paused. He paused and regretted it instantly, because it took only a moment for him to lose himself. Spock’s hair was tousled and his clothes rumpled, and Jim watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was green and blue, all soft colors and soft features, and Jim wanted to reach out and touch him.

So he touched his hand, and Spock opened his eyes.

“Are you convalescent?” Spock asked as he sat up, blinking against the morning light.

Jim suddenly forgot his anxiety and smiled. “I am convalescing adequately.”

Spock nodded slightly. “I did administer a hypo after you fell asleep.”

Jim had forgotten about the hypo. That he had insisted he didn’t need one when he obviously did, that he had begged Spock not to bother. Suddenly, he could no longer hold Spock’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

“Why?” Spock asked, and though Jim was staring at his own hands, he could imagine the rise of Spock’s eyebrow and the soft inquisitiveness on his face. He looked at him.

“Oh, you know. For being illogical,” Jim said, trying to smile.

Spock’s expression was strange, and there was something in it Jim couldn’t name. It might have been hurt that was traced along the edges. His face was hard, as hard as he had ever seen it, and Jim knew it was hiding something. It was the frozen lake under which waters coursed violently and relentlessly. It was the hard volcanic top that hid the molten streams beneath.

It was – well, it was Spock. And Jim knew Spock, and he knew there was something he wanted to say. He took his hand.

“You dreamed about her last night,” Spock said. “I did not mean to intrude, but I was attempting to use my touch telepathy to calm you. I only received impressions. But you dreamed about her.”

Jim couldn’t remember his dreams. He couldn’t remember Edith visiting him that night, but as he thought of her, she appeared flickering and ghostly in his mind, walking through celluloid and starlight. He had probably been dreaming about her for days without remembering.

“I loved her, Spock. I guess I still do.”

Spock nodded and looked down. Hurt – there was no denying it now – spread across his face.

“Spock, why did you come here?” Jim asked.

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to ensure your emotional wellbeing. I assure you that I do not doubt your ability to attend to your own mental health, but I desired to provide aid if it was necessary.” He paused, still looking down at their hands. “Because you loved her.”

Jim looked at Spock’s face, open and soft in the morning light, and he squeezed his hand, and it simply tumbled out of him:

“I love you, Spock.”

Spock did not look up at him, but said, “I also love you, Jim.”

Silence as they both looked at their intertwined fingers.

Jim could have counted the beats of his heart as he waited, the beats of Spock’s heart that he felt through the contact. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but he felt a heat on his fingertips, and he knew that Spock was lowering his mental shields.

They fell one by one, and Spock’s hand was a tangle of exposed wires, electric and raw and painful. It was the same sensation Jim had felt last night, that he had felt once in New York, but a million times louder.

Fear. He felt fear. Among all the emotions rising from Spock’s skin, Jim felt that one the loudest, biting and cold. He almost withdrew his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.

“Jim, I do not believe you feel the way you think you feel. I believe you are still grieving and have misdirected your feelings. What you are experiencing now is actually for her, not me.” Spock paused, but he didn’t look away. “You did not love me in New York.”

Jim would have laughed if it weren’t for the look on Spock’s face. He raised his other hand and placed it over Spock’s. “Spock, I’ve loved you – well, not since we met. It was slower and stranger than that. But I think one day we crashed into each other, and I felt it in every particle, and I’ve known it ever since.”

“I do not recall such a collision. To what are you re–”

Jim pressed his lips against Spock’s. Because what better way to explain than with action? And there were crashes, loud and startling, as they drew closer and their minds fell into each other. And Jim knew he didn’t need to will his emotions into the touch, that he didn’t need to scream them, because he knew they were already there, on the surface of his mind and his skin.

Skin. All he really wanted was skin. Because with Spock, skin was something else entirely, and it sparked on contact.

And he told Spock, with the simple language of minds and touch, that he had never been grieving just Edith. He had been grieving Spock too, or rather the life with Spock he wanted but thought he could never have. Because loneliness had chased him down in New York, had pinned him to the wet pavement and torn through him with claws more lethal than a _le-matya_ ’s. But he had known he couldn’t hold Spock’s hand, so he held Edith’s instead. And then she was gone, and he had been left alone.

Loneliness ached from within him, beating like a pulse, and Spock responded to it. He wrapped his arms around Jim and drew him closer, even as they kissed. Jim felt a similar ache in Spock, but it burned and was hungry, like a fire in search of kindling.

Dizzy with heat, Jim leaned backwards, and they practically fell over. Spock was on top of him. And he was pushing.

Jim gasped. “Spock, your parents will hear.” Or at least Sarek would. Jim had seen Vulcan ears pick up on a lot less.

But Spock just kissed him and continued pushing. Grinding.

And Jim pushed back, his breath hot and panting in between kisses. He raised his hands to Spock’s face, and then his back, grasping at his hair and his clothes, kneading into him. And then he found Spock’s hands and ran his fingers along his palms.

Spock shuddered on top of him.

Their fingers tangled together, and Jim felt the frenzy of friction and thoughts as Spock dragged his hands down his arms and under his shirt. His fingers left a trail of heat, like a burn, and they pushed against his hips and then towards his crotch.

Spock cupped his erection, and Jim’s entire body rocked. Spock began rubbing him through the fabric of his pants, and Jim felt it like the spark of two stones hitting together. And then Spock was on top of him again, and there were hips that crashed and thighs that pushed and two aching bodies desperate for each other.

Pausing slightly, Spock laced his fingers through Jim’s hair and pressed his mouth against his neck. Jim gasped at the touch and tried to pull Spock closer to him. But Spock was stronger than him and resisted Jim’s pull and hovered above him slightly as he kissed him.

So Jim pushed upwards, hard, and felt the quaking release of orgasm. He groaned into Spock’s shoulder as he felt Spock’s own release through the contact of skin. And he hugged Spock close as they both felt each other’s aftershocks, like two trembling planets after collision.

They shifted onto their sides, and Jim kissed him again, softly this time.

“Thank you, Spock,” he said.

“What for?”

Jim shrugged and held him tighter, knowing that his gratitude was spoken through the touch of their skin. “For coming here.”

Spock nodded, and Jim took his hand. He wanted to clean himself, but he could still feel the fatigue of last night’s fever. So he kissed Spock instead, trying to tighten his grip on his hand even as he slipped towards sleep. Dreams dragged at him already, and they were cratered and red, like a scene from Mars. But this was Vulcan, far stranger and hotter and home to the man lying next to him. He kicked the sands beneath him, and they turned into stars.

*~****~*

The suns were already setting when Jim awoke.

He stretched and looked around the room for Spock. For a moment, he thought he was alone. But then he saw Spock sitting on the floor, deep in meditation.

Jim stood up, and Spock stirred.

“I hope you haven’t been here all day,” Jim said, smiling.

“I have been lax in my meditation practices the past week. As I had no better way to pass the day, I took the opportunity to catch up.”

“What were you meditating about?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim laughed. “You’re right. I already know the answer to that one.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, he extended his hand. Spock took it and used it to pull himself into a standing position. Jim could feel Spock through his fingertips, the calm of meditation and the warmth of affection, but he couldn’t feel all of him. He squeezed his hand and let go.

“Spock, I hope you know that I don’t expect everything all at once. We got caught up in the headiness of touch and confessions, and we maybe moved a little too fast. I understand if you have some regrets.”

“I have no regrets. And I am prepared to give you everything. But you are correct in assuming that I am not capable of giving it all at once.” Spock paused. Slowly, almost shyly, he bent down and kissed him. “I do love you, Jim.”

“Why, Mr. Spock. I never knew you believed in such a thing. I always thought you’d say that love is for the birds.”

“I assume you are employing a human colloquialism, as I do not see the relevance of birds to this discussion.”

Jim laughed. “It means it’s useless.”

“I cannot comment on the utility of love to birds. But I can say that my feelings for you cannot be reduced to simple utilitarianism. I cannot tame them through meditation or logic. And I find that I do not want to."

Spock faltered, and Jim didn’t have to touch him to feel the fear inside him – the vulnerability, and the fear of that vulnerability.

“I am also ready to give you everything, Spock. And I know I demand a lot, but I won’t demand this.”

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock said. He hesitated. “Do you recall when I told you that I used to doubt the existence of my katra and that I only became certain that I had one when I could feel it inside me?”

“Yes.”

“The day I felt it was the day I met you."

Spock bent down, and Jim reached up. They kissed again, long and hard, and their fingers tangled together. He could feel their minds as they touched and scraped against each other, throwing sparks across the darkened room.

Reluctantly, Jim broke the kiss and looked up at him. “Did your parents come looking for us?”

Spock nodded. “I informed them that you were unwell due to the attack from the _le-matya_ and that I had reports that needed to be completed. I am not sure they believed me.”

Laughing, Jim said, “I told you they would hear us.”

“Indeed. I am grateful you did not wake in time for dinner. I was not looking forward to that particular conversation.”

Jim smiled and looked out the window. The Vulcan moon, wide and bright, hung above them, and he studied its cratered face.

“I will begin preparing dinner,” Spock said. “I believe my mother found the synthesized meats she was referring to.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I do not require your assistance.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “And I believe your time would be better spent in the shower.”

Jim laughed. “Alright, I can take a hint. I’m sure I’ve started to smell by now.”

The shower was hot, and Jim was glad to rinse the fever and sweat and sex from himself. Steam rose above him, and he thought of the volcanic springs. Maybe they should pay them another visit before leaving Vulcan.

He returned to his room and dressed. The moon, he noticed, had risen farther into the sky. He opened the door to the balcony, and moonlight flooded the room.

Jim had never seen a moon so big; he thought it might swallow the planet whole. It cast its light onto the rolling sands and the distant volcanos, turning the entire world pale. His thoughts turned suddenly to New York, a cold city that no longer existed, at least not how he knew it, inhabited now only by ghosts. He had loved it, and then he had hated it, and now some part of him was glad that he had gone there.

He was glad for his grief. He did not believe that it meant anything; he did not believe that grief ever meant anything. It was random and cruel and usually it led only to more grief. But this time at least it had led him to Spock.

Jim leaned against the rails, seeking out the small oasis at the bottom of the hill. The red tree was gone, had probably been torn away by the winds. He doubted that little else had survived.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Jim turned around and watched as Amanda entered the room. She was a small woman but, in the bright moonlight, she cast a long shadow.

“I hope you’re feeling better, Jim,” she said.

“I do. Thank you.” He smiled at her as she walked onto the balcony. He felt warm despite the cold desert night.

“Is tomorrow your last day on Vulcan?” she asked.

“Our last full day. We’ll leave the day after.” He paused, studying her in the moonlight. “I’m sorry about your garden.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time. This is not a fertile planet, and some things don’t take root here. Even when they do, they often don’t last.”

“It was beautiful, though.”

She smiled at him and leaned against the rails. “I do apologize for Sarek’s behavior. I can only guess as to the reason for his hostility. You know that he and Spock didn’t speak for years. And even after that, their relationship has remained strained. I think part of him blames you. Resents you for taking his son away from him.”

“Resents me? What for?”

“It’s not very logical, I agree. And I’m just glad that Spock has found some happiness in Starfleet. And with you.”

Unsure how to respond, Jim turned away and looked towards the pale and rolling hills. There was a shadow, he realized, on the sands beneath him, cast by a small boulder. He leaned towards it.

“That’s I-Chaya’s grave,” Amanda said.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that Vulcans commemorate dead pets.”

“They don’t. But Spock insisted. Even as he got older and dedicated himself to logic, he kept it there. He and Sarek had more than one argument about it.”

Jim looked at the rock and the shadow it cast, and he looked at the moon. And he thought of Spock, who he thought he could hear moving around in the room next door. His world was no longer full of hot sands and hot colors; it was pale now, and it was cold.

He thought the moon might have been frowning at him, and Jim smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!! I am aware that there are several deviations from canon (as well as science and history -- whoops), but I hope they're not too distracting. I always appreciate feedback, though; so feel free to yell at me in the comments.
> 
> You can also hit me up on Tumblr at @greenjimkirk. And a big thank you to my sister and beta-reader, @neonocturnal.


End file.
